Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the campus library. It was 2026, but some things never changed, the collective groan of students facing finals week, the scent of old paper mixing with cheap iced coffee, and the absolute certainty that Thomas Jefferson was going to make a scene.
Thomas shifted in his chair, leaning back with a deliberate, slow grace that drew eyes without him even trying. He ran a hand through his afro, the dark, tightly coiled curls catching the warm light. He was wearing a deep purple linen shirt that looked entirely too expensive for a university library, but Thomas didn't do casual. He did an impression of casual that made everyone else look unkempt.
"I’m just saying," Thomas murmured, his voice a low, smooth drawl that carried just a bit too well in the quiet room, "the entire framework is fundamentally flawed. We’re looking at data that’s completely biased toward the northeast corridor. It’s stupid!"
Across the table, James Madison didn't look up from his tablet. He was swallowed by an oversized black knit sweater, his dark skin a sharp contrast against the stark white screen he was hyper focused on. He adjusted his glasses with one finger, his expression unreadable.
"The data is localized for the study, Thomas," James said, his voice quiet, crisp, and completely devoid of the performative flair Thomas brought to every conversation. "If you had read the methodology instead of just looking over the abstract to find something to argue with, you’d know that."
Thomas let out a dramatic sigh, slumping slightly in his seat, though he still managed to look like he was posing for a portrait. "You hurt me, Jemmy. Truly. I read the whole thing. I simply found it lacking imagination."
"Imagination is for your creative writing electives," James replied smoothly, finally tilting his head up. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, locked onto Thomas’s. "This is public policy. We need precision, not poetry."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Thomas’s mouth. He loved this part. He loved the way James refused to be charmed by him, the way James could dismantle a three-page argument with a single, sentence. It was infuriating, but it was the most interesting part of his entire week.
They had been paired up for the senior capstone project three weeks ago. At first, Thomas had thought it would be an easy ride... he’d do the talking, James would do the spreadsheets. But James wasn't a silent partner. He was a quiet force, a meticulous anchor to Thomas’s drifting balloon of grand ideas.
James tapped his stylus against the screen, breaking the silence. "We need to finish the literature review by Thursday. Are you actually going to contribute to the Google Doc tonight, or am I going to see 'Thomas Jefferson edited this 4 minutes ago' at three in the morning again?"
"The creative spirit doesn't clock in at nine to five, James," Thomas said, leaning forward, resting his chin in his hand. The proximity made James blink, just once, before his gaze hardened back into its usual stoic defense. "But for you? I might make an exception."
"Don't do me any favors," James muttered, though there was the slightest twitch of his lips, the barest hint of a smile that he hid by looking back down at his notes. "Just do the work."
Not even 5 minutes later, the library doors swung open with an unnecessary amount of force, shattering the peace of the quiet study zone. Thomas didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The distinct sound of combat boots squeaking on floor and a loud, unfiltered laugh could only belong to one group.
"I’m telling you, it’s a foolproof investment," Alexander Hamilton’s voice carried halfway across the room before he even reached their table. He was practically vibrating, a crumpled energy drink can clutch in one hand and a stack of printed articles in the other. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and he looked like he hadn't slept since Tuesday.
Right behind him, John Laurens was trying—and failing—to look apologetic to the glaring librarian. He had a digital camera strap slung over his shoulder and a smudge of charcoal on his forearm. "Alex, sit down, you’re yelling. The whole floor is staring at us."
"Let them stare, John! They’re witnessing history!" Alexander tossed his papers onto the center of Thomas and James's meticulously organized table, effectively burying James’s neatly printed outline.
James closed his eyes, inhaling slowly through his nose. "Alexander. This is a designated quiet zone. Go be historic in the courtyard."
"No time, Madison, no time," Alexander said, sliding into the chair next to James and immediately leaning into his personal space. "Did you see the new grant proposal guidelines for the urban development initiative? It’s practically written for our thesis. We need to pivot. Right now."
"We are not pivoting," Thomas interjected, his smooth drawl sharpening into something more defensive. He sat up straighter, his afro framing a face mixed with profound annoyance and competitive spark. "We’ve spent three weeks solidifying our framework. I am not throwing out my introduction because you had a manic episode at a Starbucks."
"It wasn't Starbucks, it was the local bodega, and it’s called inspiration, Jefferson," Alexander snapped back, eyes flashing.
Before the two could launch into their standard three hour debate, Hercules slid into the booth next to Thomas, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and paint thinner. He looked effortlessly chic in an oversized denim jacket covered in local band patches. He reached over, casually stealing one of Thomas’s fries from a paper bag on the table.
"Let them fight," Hercules murmured with a grin, winking at James. "It is my favorite afternoon entertainment. Better than reality TV."
"Please don't encourage them, Mon Ami" Lafayette grumbled, dropping heavily into the last available chair. He pulled out his laptop. "I have a design portfolio due at midnight, and if I get kicked out of this library because Alexander can't control his volume, I’m deleting his eh.. whatever they are called."
James rubbed his temples, feeling a headache blossoming right behind his eyes. He looked at Thomas, expecting him to keep fueling the fire, but found Thomas already looking at him.
For a second, the chaos of the group faded into background noise. Thomas’s expression had softened, the sharp, argumentative edge melting away into a look of genuine amusement and something else. Something quieter, meant only for James. Thomas gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a silent acknowledgment of the circus they were currently trapped in.
James felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth tug at his chest. He cleared his throat quickly, breaking the eye contact, and tapped his stylus against Alexander’s knuckles.
"Alexander," James said, his quiet voice instantly cutting through the noise. "If you do not remove your papers from my tablet in the next three seconds, I will delete your shared access to the group drive."
Alexander froze, looking at James like he had just threatened a federal crime. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
John snorted, sinking into his chair. "He’d do it, Alex. Sit down and shut up."